Of Dreams and Nightmares
by RStiltskinned
Summary: Tumblr prompt: Leroux!Erik gets drunk and dreams of Christine.


Erik had once sworn to himself that he would never succumb to alcohol, tempting though it may have been at times to just give in and drown his sorrows in a good bottle of wine.

In his youth, he had first witnessed the effects that an excessive amount of drink could have on a man. He'd seen drunk men accosting women, displaying the most shameful and repulsive behaviour and making a ridiculous spectacle of themselves. Erik had promised himself that he would never indulge in something that made one lose control of one's senses in such a shocking manner.

His time in Persia had seen him break this oath in many despicable ways, but Erik had long since decided to regard his time there as a long nightmare and not to dwell on it if it could be avoided.

Now, however, he was once again going back on his promise. Erik had taken a lantern and a wine glass and descended down into his wine cellar. The cold, dark room offered solitude and complete silence and removed him from the temptations that were his instruments. Music could not soothe his mind now.

He had a particularly fine bottle of burgundy he was looking for, and after a few minutes of searching through the collection of dark, dust-covered bottles, he had found it and took it from its shelf. He opened the bottle and checked the cork before pouring out a small amount of wine to get rid of any residue. Finally, he poured a glass and settled down on a barrel with it.

Erik stared down at the dark liquid, morbid thoughts entering his mind. If anyone had come across him, corpselike as he was, and seen the glass in his hands, they would have probably believed him to be a bloodsucking monster, a vampire like the ones in the novels.

The fact that he slept in a coffin wouldn't help either.

He sighed and took a sip. The taste was exquisite, and the warm rush alcohol brought temporarily lifted his spirits a little; he certainly needed that.

Erik had thought that he had learned all there was to learn about agony, but nothing in the world, not even the torture chambers of Persia, could have prepared him for the sharp, unrelenting pain that love brought.

He felt like he was drowning and yet not dying.

She had filled his mind, every corner and every crevice, holding his heart in a vicelike grip – and she was not even aware of it.

No, his beloved thought him to be a celestial being sent to her by her father. He should have told her that she was mistaken – he should not have approached her at all, for that matter – but for some reason his usually brilliant, calculating mind had failed him and he had started something that he was slowly starting to lose control over. At first, he had been the one in power; the aloof angel, a bodiless voice that Christine worshipped and obeyed without question.

But Christine did not now that the angel was a living, breathing man. A man who had been deprived of kindness and companionship his entire life, no less. And she did not know that her childish adoration, her words of reverence and her devotion to the angel persona made the man behind it tremble with longing and despair.

She was the true angel; Erik was willing to forgive the deity that had burdened him with his cursed fate because that deity had seen fit to create her. Surely, his wretchedness was necessary to balance her perfection in this world; and was that not a sign that they were meant for each other? Erik, being a studious man, had read about religions in Asia that believed man and woman must balance and complement each other; only when the two matching partners joined did they become one whole being.

She was his other half, he was certain of it; her voice was a match for his own; her beauty evened out his hideousness. She must have been created just for him, no?

Erik started his second glass of wine.

But how to make her his for good? He did not want her as his student and devotee; he wanted her as his own, as his companion_, as his wife._

He sighed. His wife. _Erik's wife_. What an impossible, what a ridiculous, absurd combination of words! He took a long sip from his glass.

What would that be like, to share his life with her? To have her by his side every day, to share her smiles and dispel her woes? To sing with her, read to her, go on walks…What bliss it would be! If only he could court her like any other man, without having to fear her reaction to his grotesque face…

The second glass was finished and Erik poured himself another one. Staring at it, his musings slowly took on a darker note. Christine be with him, haha! Preposterous! When even his mother had not loved him! With a bitter laugh, he downed this glass faster than the others.

_You beast_, his mother's voice suddenly screamed in his head, _do not touch me!_

_Vile creature, do you think anyone could ever love you? Spend your time on what you are good at – hate is the only passion you will ever now, creature – _

The sultana's voice had joined his mother's now, and Erik dropped his glass in horror. The shattering sound set him even more on edge; with a choked sob, he slid to the ground and covered his ears with his hands as if he could shut out the voices that way.

_Monster!  
Freak!  
Do not touch me! Don't you dare!  
Leave me alone!_

Erik howled with pain, trying to overpower the voices, but they just kept getting louder. He was cowered in a corner now, curling himself into a tight ball.

_Stop it! Oh, please mother, stop!  
No please, I want to go home! Please!  
No don't make me do it please don't make me do it-_

"Make it stop! Oh please, please…Erik cannot…please!" he wheezed. "Oh God, no…"

For a long time, Erik stayed in the corner, whimpering and muttering incoherently to himself. Suddenly, he heard light footsteps behind him.

He sat up quickly and turned in alarm; who had found their way into his lair? Was it the Daroga?

In the weak light of the lantern, he made out a slender shape…then a shimmer of gold…

_Christine!_

He weakly reached out to her…Christine! How did she find him…why was she here? Did she know? Had she found out the truth?

With horror, he realised that he was not wearing his mask.

He hastily retracted his hand and covered his face. "Christine, no! You must not see…no! Please…please…."

Gentle hands pried his own away from his face. His breathing stopped. He dared not open his eyes. The soft hands slowly stroked his sallow cheeks and brushed over his forehead as if to bless him.

"C-Christine…?" he managed to choke out.

"Shhh, it's alright. Don't be afraid, my angel. I'm here. The voices are gone. They cannot hurt you. It's alright now…"

Erik sobbed as Christine continued to caress his face and whisper words of comfort into his ear. His sobs slowly subsided and turned into little hiccups, which made his face heat up with embarrassment. But she only laughed sweetly and continued to gently stroke him – her hands moved behind his ears, and Erik sighed before slowly sliding into her embrace. His head was resting in her lap now, and he could not help himself and started purring with content.

His ears were suddenly filled with song; he recognised the tune to be a Swedish lullaby Christine sometimes sang when she was alone in her dressing room. To think that she was singing it for him now! His eyes filled with tears again, but this time, her fingers were there to catch them.

Lulled by Christine's sweet voice, Erik's mind slowly left the world of the waking and – for the first in forever – fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Meanwhile, Christine was sitting in her music room, waiting for her maestro to make himself known. It was highly unusual for him to be this late.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

On the same evening, Madame Giry was sorely disappointed when she found neither five franc nor a box of English sweets in Box 5.

Coincidentally, the opera house experienced its first night without strange occurrences in weeks.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The Persian had agreed to meet Erik in his home on this morning. Erik needed his help to order some rare type of metal from Allah knew where. But as he entered Erik's house and went straight to the man's music room as he had been told to, he found no one there. And Erik was not in any of the other rooms either!

"Damn him for calling me here and then not having the decency to be here himself!" the Daroga muttered angrily. He was about to turn and leave when he noticed that the trapdoor that lead to Erik's wine cellar was open. Curiously, he bent down over the opening.

"Erik?" he called.

No answer. But why would he leave the door open? The Persian had been a chief of police after all; he knew that something was off about this. And so, he took a candle, lit it and descended down into the darkness.

Erik was indeed in the cellar; but it seemed that he had been there for a while. He was lying on the floor, a broken wine glass and a two-thirds empty bottle next to him.

What on earth…? The Persian knew Erik not to be a man of such vices, and he was both surprised and shocked to find his friend in such a state.

He bent down and shook Erik. "Erik…Erik, are you alright? Wake up, you fool…!" The Daroga was worried now; Erik was even colder than usual, and his breathing was shallow. "Erik!"

To the Daroga's relief, Erik's eyelids fluttered and his hand moved. He murmured something that sounded vaguely like "Christine…not yet, please..." The Daroga managed to hoist Erik to his feet – the man was only skin and bones after all – and slowly began to help him up the stairs.

"Allah above, what have you done this time, Erik…" he muttered under his breath.

He managed to deposit Erik on the sofa of his sitting room and found a blanket to wrap him up in. The Persian needed to leave and take care of some business that could not wait; but he vowed to return as soon as possible.

As he left, he swore he could hear Erik mumbling again.

"Christine…Christine I love you…oh will you love me too?"


End file.
